


A Place for Peace

by StreetSolo



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drama, F/F, F/M, Family, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Love, One Shot Collection, Romance, Slice of Life, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-09 07:46:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15262707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StreetSolo/pseuds/StreetSolo
Summary: A series of one-shots and prompts focused on the time between seasons 2 and 3 to help numb the wait until season 3. Most are going to be June/Nick, but all of the characters have so much depth I just want to write about all of them, like when Emily meets up with Moira again for the first time and she meets Nichole, etc. One thing I can guarantee: most of the stories are going to be pretty positive, or at least as positive as things can get in Gilead.I'm going to keep all of the chapters pretty GA I think, but I'll mark it at the top of each chapter if any are mature, along with any possible triggers. I'm open to requests so just drop a comment or send me a message!Nolite te bastardes carborundorum.





	1. runaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some good ol' June/Nick fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “We were the people who were not in the papers. We lived in the blank white spaces at the edges of print. It gave us more freedom. We lived in the gaps between the stories.”  
> ― Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid's Tale

               The sparkling ocean seems to stretch on forever before them. It’s early yet, and the waves are calm. Peaceful. The air is thick with what seems like rain, but that will come later. For now, there was just the tranquility in the still hours before dawn.

               Nick stirs, only to find June stir in response. Right. That made sense. She was a light sleeper, he had come to learn. Not that that surprised him. Few things about June surprised him. She was a product of her environment: act and react.

               In her arms lay a sleeping Holly. June kept saying that she was fussy as far as babies went, but he didn’t see it. Sure, she could cry and wail like any baby could, but she was quiet when she needed to be. That was a trait he couldn’t appreciate enough, especially when it came to escaping Gilead.

               He remembered his tense, labored breathing. He remembered hearing the sound of his heartbeat in his ears over the screech of rubber tires on the slick road. The rain was coming down in droves, and he was sure that he was going to swerve off the road, crash, and kill them all.

               Not that it would matter. If they slowed down, if they were caught, they’d be dead anyway. Would they drown him in a pool or nail him to the wall? Either way, he didn’t think it would matter much. Pain was pain until the deed was done, and then he would be free of Gilead once and for all.

               At the very least, he wouldn’t have to worry about June being violated, beaten or worse. No, the burden of that guilt would be lifted. He would take her beyond their reach with him; surely it was more merciful than whatever execution they would dream up for her, anyway.

               But it meant that Holly, er, Nichole, would be raised by one of the worst men in all of Gilead. He knew that Rita would do as much as she could to protect her, but it wouldn’t be enough. Nothing would ever be enough.

               He remembered how June had sat in the seat beside him. Holly was clutched to her chest, tiny head tucked under her jaw as she stared straight ahead, as if seeing through the rain. If she was nervous, her countenance was well preserved.

               He thought he saw a flash of headlights behind him. He tried to twist his head around to get a better look, but the tires hydroplaned beneath them and he quickly swiveled his head back around.

               “Do you see them?”

               June glances in the rearview mirror. “I don’t see anyone.”

               Her voice was calm, frustratingly calm. She knew as well as he did that they were not going to let a handmaid escape a third time. Fertile or not, either execution or the Colonies waited to claim her future.

               He thought he saw another flash of headlights, somewhere off to the left in front of them. He wasn’t familiar with this territory. All he knew was that he had to make it to the coast, and he wasn’t going to take his foot off the pedal until he got there.

               Suddenly he hears June’s voice beside him, no longer calm. This voice was hedged with a note of concern. “Nick?”

               Even baby Holly, ignorant of their situation, could hear the note of worry in her mother’s voice as she let out a noise that sounded like her own little burble of worry.

               “I see it.” His voice is set, resolved. If they were trying to set up a roadblock, he’d smash right through it. He wouldn’t let them-

               “Nick?”

               He blinks his eyes open as his eyes settle on the room in front of him. Warm rays of dawn are peaking through the wooden slats in the shack that had started to erode from weather and time. June was kneeling in front of him, still wearing her ripped red handmaid’s cloak.

               The pieces started to come back together as he puts his hand down on the dirty mattress beneath him and pulls himself to a seated position. The ocean? A dream. Their escape? Fabricated by his imagination.

               At least Holly – oh wait, no – it was Nichole now - was out of Gilead.

               That was something of a conundrum for Nick. In Gilead, he learned that he had to be honest with himself and his feelings. Honesty held the truth in its hand and prevented his mind from going astray. He was honest with June; he hadn’t wanted her to leave his daughter. As kind as June insisted Emily was, all he knew was that she was the girl who had ran over a peacekeeper with a car and beat Aunt Lydia to an inch of her life after sticking a knife in her back and pushing her down the stairs.

               Both of them had it coming. That wasn’t the question. He knew that June had managed to keep her sanity at least mostly intact throughout all that she had seen and experienced, but not everyone did. Not everyone could. But June trusted her, and Nick resolved to do the same as well.

               He didn’t have many other options left.

               “They’re here.”

               Nick nods, his mind still on the brink of sleep. Right now he’d rather be asleep if it meant he could dream of the ocean, but June was beside him again, at least for now, and he had to accept that miracle for however long he could.

               He could hear June’s voice from the other room. It frightened him that he wasn’t aware that she had gotten up and left. He could hear the truck backfire in the driveway, and that drove him to his feet within the instant. His feet carried him quietly to the kitchen, placing his weight on the thicker floorboards so as to make little noise as possible.

               June was fussing around a girl who looked no older than eight or nine. He didn’t know why June wanted to accompany him to this drop-off, but he understood it. June was a mother at heart. She laid out food for the girl. She took a damp rag to wipe her dirty face with. She brushed her tangled hair back with a comb and began to braid it, singing quietly to herself while the girl just glanced around the room with her large, innocent eyes.

               “You feeling better?” The coo in June’s voice was the same one she used with Holly. The corner of Nick’s lip quirked into a smile in spite of himself.

               The girl nods.

               “Yeah?” June ventures. “Looks like you’ve had a long trip, hm?”

               A half-hearted shrug.

               “That’s okay,” June assures her. “You’re almost there. It won’t be much further now.”

               Another shrug, accompanied by a short head nod.

               “Do you have a name? Not the one they gave you. What do you want me to call you?”

               _Smart_. Feed her. Bathe her. Give the girl her agency back. Turn her into a person again. June knew all the right things to do without even trying.

               The girl pauses for a moment. For the first time, her eyes glimmer with reflection. Her lips seem to purse into the semblance of a smile as she seems to consider this for a moment. The twinkle fades as she turns back to June, but there’s something else in her eyes now: a sense of presence.

               “My parents called me Kira.”

               “Kira,” June echoes her name. There’s a smile in her voice when she says it. “That’s a pretty name. I’m June, and this is Nick.”

               He hadn’t realized he had moved awkwardly into the doorframe. Neither had Kira, as she seems to scooch a little ways away from him.

               “It’s all right,” June assures her. Nick holds his hands up to show he means no harm as June continues, “He helped me escape too.”

               Kira tilts her head to the side, not understanding. “If you escaped, why are you still here?”

               June struggles to smile in spite of herself. The corners of her lips tilt up, but it doesn’t meet her eyes. He watches as her countenance struggles with itself for a moment, each emotion fighting for dominance over the other. But finally, the final wave crashes and spills out over the shoreline, and June’s face relaxes as she reaches out and brushes a stray wisp of hair out of the girl’s face.

               “So that I can help you escape,” June says gently. “And because I have my own little girl out there. And I’m not leaving until I bring her home with me.”

               Nick had to be honest with himself. After all, honestly was all he had left, wasn’t it? In his dreams, he always imagined a future with June and their child. If he couldn’t be a part of it, then he at least wanted June to be out there, safe, being both a mother and a father to her in his stead.

               But June was a mother to two daughters, not one, and she wasn’t going to leave Gilead without her.

               But watching June be a mother to a girl she barely knew made him realize something else. No matter what June said, it was never going to stop here. There was never going to be a white sandy beach in his future. He was never going to awaken to the crash of ocean waves and the smell of salt in June’s hair. There would always be another little girl to save. There would always be another child that had been separated from her parents and forced into Gilead shackles.

               June would break them all, if she could. And out of all the people he had met, he didn’t have a doubt that she could do it, either. She had inspired the handmaids to embrace their names again. She had inspired Serena to rise up against Commander Waterford and Gilead’s inane suppression of women. She had inspired Rita and the other Marthas to work together for the good of a child. And for better or worse, she had inspired Eden to follow her heart.

               The Lord knew June had inspired him to follow his.

               He turns to Kira. “We’re going to get you back to them. To your parents.”

               His voice was soft, but firm. Kira seems to find solace in it as she nods and continues to eat. They both watch her for a moment before June turns back to him and smiles.

               It wasn’t a big smile. It didn’t show teeth. But it was a genuine smile, he could see by the way it touched her eyes. He could see, and he could understand.

               Everyone had a purpose here in Gilead. He hadn’t known what his was for a long time, but there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in his mind that June’s was to destroy it. And if he could help her in that quest, hell, if he could give her even an ounce of happiness in this dark world, then he would spend every moment fighting to do just that.

               Everything else had been stripped away from her, but she deserved happiness. She had earned at least that much.

               “You can go back to sleep if you want.” There’s a tease in June’s voice. A challenge, almost. He can hear it in his head:

               _You can go back under. Keep dreaming of what could have been. Of what could be, maybe._

He smiles and shakes his head. “I’m awake now.”


	2. smile again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily reunites with Moira and lets her meet Nichole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I feel like the word shatter.”  
> ― Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid's Tale

               The truck drove for hours.

               She tried to memorize every bump in Gilead’s stupid, poorly maintained roads. She tried to remember each right. Each left. Each nuance of direction that took her one step closer to freedom.

               Then that stupid little shit would start crying and it was all Emily could do to keep her patience and try to nurse her back to sleep.

               She hated June. Fuck, she hated June. You couldn’t hate someone you didn’t love, though, and Emily did love June. At first she couldn’t understand why she had abandoned her and her baby. What the fuck in Gilead could be so important that she’d give up her baby for? To risk her life for?

               Then she found the picture. The little girl. She remembered June telling her once. _Hannah._ She had a daughter named Hannah that was taken from her. Now she was being molded into a product of Gilead.

               _Fuck_.

               She tried to imagine her own child being raised in Gilead. At least Oliver was a boy. That would spare him a lot of shit. But still, Gilead was Gilead. Emily could understand why June had abandoned them.

               And she could still feel like shit about it.

               The two weren’t exclusive.

               At first she tried not to think about the border. With her luck, they’d probably never make it, anyway. Then she’d be executed and they would probably do something stupid like smash the baby’s head in on a rock, lest they bring the Waterford’s back a tainted child.  

               But no, they wouldn’t do that. Babies in Gilead were more precious to them than their God. They’d just send her right back to the Waterford’s and raise her to be as wicked and delusional as they were.

               Fuck, she was going to have to be the one to do it then, wasn’t she? At least it’d be a mercy killing. June would understand, right?

               If June was here, at least she’d get to do it herself. Maybe not the deed, but at least she would be the one to make the decision.

               Emily was tired of making so many fucking decisions.

               But suddenly the truck slowed to a stop. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? She didn’t hear anything. That was another good sign. There were sounds of barking dogs or shouting men. She strained to hear the familiar click of guns being loaded and trained on the truck, but she didn’t hear that either.

               Then the door opened and in rushed the worse thing Emily could expect: people.

               At first they freaked out over the baby.

               That made sense.

               Was it hers?

_Sure._

               For now, at least. If she said no they might take it and she couldn’t risk June showing up to Canada in a week or a month or a year and telling her that she had lost her baby like a cheap subway ticket.

               The barrage of questions came all at once. Or maybe it just felt that way. She remembered stuttering, not sure how to respond. Or maybe she knew what they were asking and her brain was trying to come up with a convincing lie. Or maybe she couldn’t make out the voices over one another. Were they talking over one another? It was all too much, too-

               She looked up.

               Across from her was the pale face of a girl who looked too skinny to be healthy. Her face was pale, her cheeks were drawn and narrow, and her eyes looked to be too large for her face. Her lips were tilted in a downward slant. It looked to be pressed into her face that way, like she had frowned for so long she’d never be able to smile again.

               Emily opened her mouth and tried to use the muscles in her cheeks to pull the corner of her lips upward.

               The girl tried too.

               She couldn’t do it.

               Emily’s eyes travelled down to her chest. They had given her new clothes to wear. That was a comfort in itself. It was someone’s old college sweatshirt. The mirror reversed the letters and she tried her best not to read them. If she could read it, it would only connect her to the former owner of this sweatshirt and she didn’t want to think about who they were. Maybe they were some Canadian citizen that heard about the plight of people in Gilead and felt bad about it.

               Fuck them. That’s what they do to help. They sit safely north of the border and they organize and they talk but they don’t do anything, do they? They feel bad about it. They send thoughts and prayers.

               They donate stupid college sweatshirts like she was a dog in an ASPCA ad. Cue Sarah McLachlan.

               Suddenly the door opened and Emily prepared herself for another barrage of questions that she didn’t want to answer. And she wasn’t going to answer them. She would tell them to go fuck themselves. She would tell them that she didn’t have to answer anything. She would tell them that if they didn’t like it then they could just send her back to fucking Gilead and she’d just die there.

               Die here, die there. They all die eventually, right?

               But then Moira walked through the door and the self-righteous anger switched from boil to simmer.

               Moira came over and embraced her. That was a bit of a surprise. Between the look on Moira’s face when she first saw her and now this embrace, she almost got the impression that they were old army buddies, finally seeing each other again after many years back on the mainland.

               It was appropriate enough. They were soldiers. Soldiers in the only war that ever mattered. The war to reclaim their dignity. Their agency. Their right to be a human fucking being.

               Then Moira looked down.

               “Is that-?”

               “June’s baby.”

               Moira glances up at her sharply. A myriad of emotions cross her face and sweep through her eyes. Surprise. Fear. Denial. A little anger in there too.

               Emily gives her a moment to just _feel_ before she finally puts her out of her misery.

               “She’s not dead.”

_Well…_

               “I don’t think.”

               Moira shakes her head, not understanding. “What happened?”

               Emily pauses for a moment as she tries to think. Her eyes glaze over but Moira doesn’t call her out on it. She just stands there, waits.

_Start at the beginning._

               “I stabbed Aunt Lydia.”

               Moira’s head literally jerks back and her eyes go wide. To be honest, it was the expression Emily had been secretly hoping to see. “You…you stabbed…?”

               “She-”

               Made a joke about cutting off my clit. Fucking bitch.

               “-turned her back on me. I stabbed her. Then I pushed her down the stairs and I-”

               Nichole seemed to be sleeping, but this wasn’t a story for a baby’s ears to hear. Was this who she was now? The violence? The anger? Yesterday it seemed worth it. Now she just felt fucking insane.

               Moira mouths a silent _wow_. Then she asks the stupid question Emily knew was coming. “Is she dead?”

               Emily shakes her head. Moira makes a face that could only be described as regret and disgust mixed into one. The corner of Emily’s lip quirks upwards in a smirk. It wasn’t a smile, but she couldn’t deny that she got a small bit of pleasure out of her expression.

               Pleasure. That was something she would never experience again. Suddenly everything came out in a rush, like a faucet suddenly switched on full blast.

               “I was involved with a Martha. They executed her and sliced off my clit. I stole a car and tried to get away but I hit a Guardian. I didn’t get far. They sent me to the Colonies. I thought I was going to die there. Then they brought me back.”

               She could see the look on Moira’s face. Questions. Lots and lots of questions. She didn’t want to answer those.

_Then get to the point._

               “I ended up with Commander Lawrence. He’s the one who got me out. I thought he was taking me to be executed for what I did to Aunt Lydia. Then I saw June and she told me we were getting out. I got in the back, but June…”

               Her voice trails off as she pulls the picture out of the blanket and shows it to Moira.

               Moira takes it from her and studies it closely, the sign of a person actively searching for every flaw and blemish. Every sign of change. When she seems satisfied, she hands the picture back.

               “That’s her daughter. Hannah.” Moira shakes her head to show her disapproval, but there was understanding in her eyes. Emily knew the look well.

               As she tries to tuck the picture back, Nichole stirs. There’s a brief moment of tension in her face before she lets out a head-splitting cry. Emily is quick to pick her up and rock her from side to side. She almost expects Moira to be frustrated, but for some reason, Moira just grins like she’s enjoying her own little joke.

               Her expression suddenly sobers. “You have kids?”

               Emily’s expression wanders into the distance again, but Moira gives her time to find herself and come back. “I have a son. Oliver. He got out. He’s with my wife, Sylvia. They should be here, somewhere. They crossed the border. Just before things got bad.”

               There’s hesitation in saying it now. In Gilead, she was still connected to old Emily. That was all she had to go back to. But now? Here? This was new Emily. She was bitter and hard and angry. She was damaged. She had scars on her mind. She had scars on her body. Would Sylvia even want to touch her now without a-

               What if she had moved on? Figured her wife had died in Gilead and just moved on with her life? Emily couldn’t blame her. She actually found herself feeling completely numb to the idea.

               “Oh.” Moira swivels back around to the door before she turns back to face her. “We have people. We can try to find them for you, we can-”

               “No.” The reply is firm, immediate, and Moira doesn’t press her. The look of sympathy she’s giving her isn’t really any better, though. “Not yet.”

               Moira’s face softens as she regards Nichole. The baby had stopped screaming, but it was still whimpering and blubbering like a wounded animal.

               “Do you mind if I-?”

               Moira takes a step forward, and Emily immediately takes a step back. To Moira’s credit, she remains patient and expectant as Emily’s mind works to figure out why.

               They had been friends before. That’s right. June had told her, very long ago, back when they had first met, that she had known Moira from before. She would want Moira to be involved. She wasn’t sure how she knew it, but she just knew. June would want Moira to help raise her baby.

               Emily nods and hands her over.

               Moira takes care to support Nichole’s head, and Emily’s almost relieved that it looks like she knew how to hold her. Moira rocks her in her arms, and Nichole lets out a small squeal of delight.

               “Hey Nichole,” Moira coos as she gently bumps the baby’s nose with her own. The baby lets out another happy sound and Emily feels the corner of her lip tug upward again.

               Moira looks up at her and smiles. It’s a genuine one. It makes Emily believe that maybe if she spent enough time here, maybe she could smile like that again too.

               “So this is June’s baby,” Moira breathes as she looks Nichole over. She lets out another laugh, as if she’s enjoying her own little joke again.

               “What?” Emily tilts her head to the side and takes a step closer, trying to see what Moira is seeing.

               “Oh, nothing, nothing.” Moira shakes her head from side to side. “It’s just, she’s a bit dark for Waterford’s baby, don’t you think?”

               Moira didn’t know.

               To tell the truth, Emily didn’t either. She didn’t _know_ it but she had heard it. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember who had said it. Maybe it was a wife to a Martha. Maybe it was whispers among the handmaids.

_It was too dark to be Waterford’s baby._

               And then there was something that June had said. She hadn’t said it directly, but there was a feeling in the words. There was an undercurrent of joy, of triumph, of rebellion. She couldn’t remember exactly what June had said, but she remembered how it had made her feel.

               It had made her feel happy.

               “What?” Moira can see her putting the pieces together in the back of her mind, but this time, she can’t wait. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

               “That’s not…” Emily’s voice trails off as she realizes the implications for herself. As she glances down at Nichole, suddenly she can see it too. She’s not looking at the baby as Emily would. She’s looking at the baby as June would. There was something about June in the baby, anyone could see that, but there was something else-

               “That’s not Waterford’s baby.”

               Moira’s eyebrows knot in confusion and she shakes her head, not understanding. As Emily continues to look her over, the words cement themselves into place. It felt like truth. More than that, it _was_ truth. She couldn’t understand the how or the why but that was _not_ Waterford’s baby.

               It wasn’t Waterford’s baby. The words repeat themselves in her head over and over again and suddenly she begins to laugh. It rises out of her like a giggle and then spreads into a genuine laugh that makes it double over as she clutches the table beside her in an attempt to stay upright. Moira’s laughing too, a bit more confused, but there’s probably some relief in there too. Nichole was not Waterford’s baby.

               As a handmaid, June’s sole purpose in Gilead was to provide them with a baby. And in typical June fashion, she had let them think that she was giving them what they wanted without letting them realize that she had won.

               Gilead had broken Emily. It had ripped her body apart, it had broken her down, but it would not break June. It would only make her stronger, and maybe if she could try to be as strong as June was, she could get through this.

               If she could laugh, then she could learn how to smile again. She was almost sure of it.

               Nolite te bastardes carborundorum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read somewhere that season 3 is going to focus on Gilead trying to get the baby back (I still have mixed feelings on June leaving them tbh) but I think it would be absolutely hysterical if they had like a Maury-style publicized paternity thing, like Waterford demanding the baby back because it's half his and then they do a televised DNA reading just to be sure and BOOM! It's not! because that would be a huge, humiliating blow for him and for Gilead.


	3. don't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domestic fluff - Nick is wondering what exactly he should say to Waterford when June returns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Neither of us says the word love, not once. It would be tempting fate; it would be romance, bad luck.”  
> ― Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid's Tale

               Nick let out a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. He was going to have to explain the night’s events to Fred eventually, but now just didn’t seem like the right time. He couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse to explain both June and the baby’s sudden disappearance, or why he had refused to let Fred leave or even call for help.

               June went crazy? June threatened the baby? No, he wouldn’t insult June by even suggesting it, and he doubted Fred would believe it anyway.

               He pauses for a moment and looks across the room. It was quieter now, lonelier. Part of him knew it was because June was gone, his child was gone, but he couldn’t deny that a part of him had gotten used to Eden’s presence there. She was like an unwanted roommate that he barely paid attention to, and that had cost an innocent young girl her life.

               But he couldn’t even recall her name without feeling guilty, and so he forced his mind to wander back to his current situation.

               Fred. June.

               There was something that bothered him about thinking about them together, not that that should really come as a surprise. Fred raped her. He humiliated her. He controlled her.

               But there was something more to it though, wasn’t there? He saw the way that Fred looked after June, his eyes lingering on her ass as she walked out of a room. It disgusted him, but on some level, it seemed like something more than lust. It wasn’t just as though he treated her as his possession; it felt like he honestly believed her to be one. He wanted a handmaid that he could dominate and control, and June clearly would not break so easily.

               On some level, the thought thrilled Fred, didn’t it? The aspect of a challenge? The idea of violating a human being in every way until they simply submit to his will?

               Just the thought of it made Nick feel ill.

               If June was here, she would counter him. She would stand up for herself and tell Fred to his face what she had done. She would explain how she took _his_ daughter away, so that he couldn’t raise a child thinking that this fucked up mess of a world was normal. If there was one thing he loved about June, it was how she never backed down. She never knew how to quit, and while the thought had concerned him, he was glad that she was heading back home with their daughter.

               He doubted that he would ever see her again, if he was honest with himself. Once she crossed the border, there would be no coming back. She had friends in Canada. Her husband was in Canada, her real husband. Luke. He had to admit to himself, he seemed like a nice enough guy. A little broken, but that was to be expected. Nick couldn’t imagine sitting safely at home every night knowing that Fred was out there fucking the love of his life and knowing that he couldn’t get involved without making the situation worse.

               Oh wait.

               Yes, he could.

               At least he was in a position to help her, and that’s what he had done. He had gotten her out. Luke still loved her, and that was important. He’d protect her up there. He’d protect his daughter too, hopefully. The point was that June wasn’t going to be alone. Whatever happened to him, as long as June and his baby were safe, he could deal with the consequences. Just knowing that he had gotten June out, that he had finally done this one good thing for her after all she had suffered through, made it all worth it.

               There was a sudden small knock on the door that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. For a moment he couldn’t be sure he had even heard it before it came again, slightly louder this time. It was tempered, inquisitive.

               _Are you in there?_

               He got up to open it before he realized that it couldn’t be Fred. He would never knock so gently. Serena maybe? Fred had fortunately gotten distracted by her hysterics in the kitchen. He could still remember the way that she had clung onto his shirt as he tried to walk away from her.

               _“Don’t-”_

               _“The baby is missing, don’t you understand that? We need to move_ now, _before-”_

               “ _Don’t,” Serena wailed. “Don’t don’t don’t don’t don’t.”_

               Each strangled word became garbled into an unintelligible mess, but it was unclear to both of them what she was trying to say. Was she asking Fred not to leave her? Perhaps she saw June getting away and entered a catatonic state, begging her not to leave and realizing there wasn’t anything she could do to stop it.

               Or, a more chilling thought, perhaps June hadn’t made it out alive after all. Perhaps Serena was watching from the window and watched a guardian open fire on June and their baby. Watching them take down June would be one thing, but watching them accidentally take a newborn life? Something told him that would be a shock Serena would never recover from.

               The knock comes again, slightly more insistent. Figuring it could only be Rita coming to commiserate the day’s events, he opens the door a crack only to find it being thrust open from the other side. He tries to block it with his foot in time, but he’s not fast enough as a lithe figure slips its way inside.

               Still, it’s the scent of mud and the flash of red that catches his attention first, and he quickly shuts the door as fast as he had opened it.

               “What happened?”

               He still has his hand on the door handle as he looks her over, eyes wide. Her face is pale but her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were a bit red-rimmed and her nose appeared to be leaking. It didn’t look as though she had been crying, though. She looked angry, and the first thought that crossed his mind was that they had found her before she could escape, and taken the baby back to Waterford.

               But if that was the case, what was June doing here?

               If that was the case, why was she even still alive?

               “What happened?” Nick demands again, struggling to control his voice as June catches her breath. She shakes her head and turns away from him. He wants to give her a moment to come back to herself, but he can’t ignore the pressing question rising like a maelstrom inside of him. “What happened? Where’s Holly?”

               “Heading north,” is June’s reply. She sits down and grinds the heels of her palm into her forehead as she continues to try to catch her breath.

               Nick watches her another moment before he silently goes over to the sink to get her some water. He watches the water fill the cup, trying to focus on each droplet of water entering the glass to keep his mind focused. He returns to June and kneels down beside her, offering her the water by pressing the cool glass against the backs of her fingers.

               June looks up as if seeing him for the first time. Her expression softens as a small smile pulls at the corners of her lips. “Thank you.”

               She takes a tentative sip, then a longer one, as Nick pulls himself into a chair across from her.

                She knew the question. He wasn’t going to ask it again, and she wasn’t going to make him.

               “I couldn’t go,” June says as she shakes her head. Her eyes are shining with some speck of emotion that he couldn’t quite identify. She seems on the verge of apologizing, but holds it in. He wouldn’t have expected one from her, either. She didn’t owe him anything.

               “Start from the beginning,” Nick instructs, trying to keep his voice gentle. “You left with Holly. Then what happened?”

               “Serena caught us on the way out,” June admits quietly. Nick rolls his head back in frustration, closing his eyes as he hears her voice echo around the back of his skull.

               _“Don’t don’t don’t don’t don’t-”_

“She let us go.”

               “What?”

               Nick’s head immediately snaps forward. June didn’t look like she was joking. Instead, she seemed to be glowing with some source of inspiration, on the precipice of some great burst of pride.

               “Yeah,” June says quietly, nodding her head forward a couple of times as if to make sure he really understood it. “She saw what happened to Eden. And you know what they did to her. She knows that this is no place for a child to grow up in. I handed her back and let her say goodbye, and then she let us go.”

               Nick’s mouth opens and closes. He couldn’t imagine Serena ever being so selfless, and he couldn’t imagine June trusting her enough to let her say goodbye. Serena could have taken the baby and run back inside, and then all of that planning would have been for nothing.

               June was stronger than he was, that was for certain.

               “I don’t understand.” Nick shakes his head again, trying to keep himself focused. “Did you make it to the drop off point?”

               “I did,” June confirms, her expression turning serious. “I saw Emily. When she got in the truck, I handed her Nichole-”

               “Holly.”

               “Nichole,” June repeats. “After what Serena did…” Her voice trails off as her eyes adopt a far-off expression. “She loved her. She really did.”

               Nick frowns, suddenly troubled. “You told Emily to call her Nichole?”

               June’s forehead puckers, as if she didn’t understand what was wrong. “Yes.”

               Nick sighs as he slides his hands down his slacks. He stands up and wipes at his chin with one hand, trying to think.

               “Nick? What is it?”

               “They’ll make it out,” Nick says, more to convince himself than her. “But the Waterford’s didn’t know we called her Holly, did they? The name could have helped hide her. Now they’ll be looking for an infant across the border named Nichole.”

               June’s on her feet in an instant. “They wouldn’t.” Her eyes are wild, brimming with maternal instinct. “She’ll be safe across the border. They wouldn’t send a baby back here. They couldn’t, no matter what Gilead threatens.”

               Nick puts his hands on June’s shoulders as if to impress upon her the seriousness of the situation. When he speaks, his voice is slow, making sure she understood the weight of each syllable. “I don’t know what Fred might do to get her back.”

               June pulls away from him. She turns her back to him, chewing on the flesh of the pad of her thumb as a nervous tic. _“Shit.”_

               Nick allows her time for her to gather her thoughts. When she finally seems to make up her mind, she turns back to him, resigned but still determined. “As long as he’s here and she’s there, he can’t touch her. Emily will look after her. Hopefully she’ll find Moira. They can protect her together.”

               Her mind brings to mind another name, but it doesn’t cross her lips. Nick considers bringing it up for her, but decides to just let it go. It didn’t matter either way.

               “Why didn’t you go with them?” Nick asks. “If Fred finds out you’re still here, I don’t know what he’ll do to you. If he can’t get Nichole back, he’s going to be out for blood.”

               “I know that,” June says firmly as she holds her ground. “He’s going to want revenge, and that’s why I have to make sure that Hannah is out of harm’s way when he does.”

               _Hannah._ The other daughter. It was easier to imagine June’s daughter now that he had seen them together. It was his first true glimpse of June as a mother, and he had been pleased to see that she was a damned good one. Not that he ever doubted her, but watching June’s patience as Hannah skirted around her filled him with a feeling akin to awe.

               He couldn’t explain it, but he fell just a little bit more in love with her that day.

               If you had asked him before, he would have said that it wasn’t even possible.  

               She comes closer to him, smiling up at him in the way that only June could as she puts her hand on his shoulder and runs it down his arm. When she speaks next, her voice is barely above a whisper. “I have to save her sister. She’ll understand.”

               Nick blinks once before he nods his head forward in a quick series of nods. June wasn’t abandoning her family by sending Nichole up to Canada with Emily. She was still trying to make it whole. June had two daughters. She had done her best to make sure that one was safely out of harm’s way, but she had to rush back into the burning house of Gilead to save the other…

               …or die trying.

               Nick wraps his arms around her shoulders as he presses his lips to her forehead. “What can I do to help?”


End file.
